Page 5 of Sadistic

Lock your bedroom window. Third floor isn't as secure as you think.

I bolt upright, scrambling to check.

The window is unlocked.

I know I locked it before bed—I always do.

My hands shake as I secure it and text back.

Me:

Stay the fuck away from my apartment

Unknown Number:

Just keeping you safe, little wolf. Sleep well.

Little wolf… which means Doran.

He’s in my head, and to be honest, I don’t sleep well at all.

By morning, I’m exhausted as all hell, strung out on anxiety and way too much coffee.

"I can't do this," Dalla says, pacing my small kitchen. "I need to see Mom."

"Mom's too close to Dad. We need some space before everything goes to shit on Monday." I'm already packing a bag, throwing in clothes like we're fleeing. Maybe we are. "We're going to Everly's."

The two-and-a-half-hour drive feels both endless and too short.

Dalla drives because my hands won't stop shaking, and I swear every black car is following us.

We stop for gas halfway, and I'm certain I spot one of Doran's men by the pump.

Dalla looks over to me and grabs my hand. "You're being paranoid."

"Am I though?"

I think about what she’s saying to me, but the truth is we don’t know anything about Doran or his family besides the obvious: Doran’s the son of Aleksandr Volkolv—with ties to the Russian Bratva, and Greer Mackenzie, who happens to be the head of the Irish mafia’s little sister.

We don’t really say much else the rest of the ride, because all of this is a lot to unpack emotionally.

Everly's house appears like an oasis of normalcy—suburban street, yard with toys scattered across it, the kind of life that feels impossible after last night.

She's in the front garden with Eira and Boden, her belly swollen wide under a sundress with baby number three.

Eira crashes into our legs, blonde curls wild. "Aunt Rev! Aunt Dalla!"

The simple joy of a five-year-old's greeting nearly breaks me.

"Hey, baby girl." I scoop her up, burying my face in her hair that smells like sunshine and innocence.

Everly takes one look at our faces and her expression shifts. "Regnor? Can you take Eira for a bit?"

He appears from the garage, oil on his hands, but his eyes are already reading the situation. "Come on, princess. Let's work on the bike."

"But I wanna stay with?—"

"I'll let you help with the engine," he bribes, and she's gone.

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